


Discovering What I Already Knew

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-27
Updated: 2003-01-27
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh considers all that he's discovered about Donna, and all that he already knew about her, three days after their first kiss.





	Discovering What I Already Knew

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Discovering What I Already Knew**

**by:** Carrie  


**Characters:** Donna, Josh  
**Category:** Romance  
**Rating:** ADULT  
**Summary:** Josh considers all that he’s discovered about Donna, and all that he already knew about her, three days after their first kiss.  
**Notes:** This story came about in a rush when I heard John Mayer’s song "Your Body’s a Wonderland."  I’ve stolen some imagery and phrases from that song, so let’s just disclaim that while I’m thinking about it.  Anyway, I finally got my hands on the lyrics, and thought immediately of Josh and Donna.  The lyrics, the tempo, the mood…they all seemed familiar to me, and a fitting soundtrack for a fictional afternoon in their lives.  So, here it is.  


* * *

Donna Moss has been my assistant for over five years, my friend for almost as long, and my girlfriend for three days.  Three unbelievable days.

I think I’ve discovered more about her in seventy-two hours than in the 1700-odd days that preceded them...and yet I feel as though I might have known everything about her, all along.

 She hasn’t stopped smiling since the other night, when, after a long day of work, after a long year of campaigning, after a long five years of wanting, after a lifetime of waiting....it finally just happened.  We were sitting on the floor of my office, our backs up against my desk.  We were sharing a beer.  I could taste her on the rim of the bottle after she’d pass it back to me.  She was laughing and talking and rehashing our day, and in that instant of comfort and happiness, I knew that it was finally okay.  I was finally ready.  She stopped talking, and smiled at me; I rested my head back against the desk, and just looked in her eyes.  She was confused for a minute, giving me a quizzical stare in response to my sudden silence.  And then slowly, but surely, without words, she heard what I was saying, and agreed.  And so I leaned in, and pressed my lips to hers.  After a split-second of surprise, she kissed me back.  And back.  And back.  I pulled away, finally, and utterly unable to help myself, I murmured, "I’m completely in love with you.  You know that, right?"

To my great relief, I watched her mouth curl into a smile.  She kissed me again, and whispered, "Yes.  Where’s your car?" into my ear.  When I pulled her into my Audi, and pressed her back against her seat, with my body and mouth and hands, the look in her eyes was electric.  And a bolt of it shot to my heart when she whispered, "Josh?  I love you, too."

She hasn’t stopped smiling since then.  I can’t believe I’m the guy to make her look like that...to make her look so goddamned happy. 

I'm torn between wanting to touch every inch, every mile of her, all  at once, so that all of her knows all of me, all at once, and pacing myself. Part of me wants to take it slow; I want to save pieces of her to discover each time we're along together. Somehow, though, I don't think I'll ever run out of things to discover or know about Donna.

I'm amazed by the new things I've learned about her since finally kissing her, and yet amused by the way that I seem to already know all about her, anyway. Take her lips, and her kisses...I've watched those lips for all these years, as she smiles, she frowns, or her tongue sneaks out to part and wet them. In the past few days I've discovered anew her candy-colored mouth, and yet reaffirmed what I think I've always known...that she can use her lips on my body in ways that make me want to beg for more. That she tastes like all  things bright and beautiful...bubblegum, and springtime, and carnivals, and champagne.

Her body is a wonderland that I alternately discover, and yet recognize. My knowledge of the particulars of her body, gathered during our platonic years, merges now with all I know from three days of peeling her clothes from her and exposing her body to mine. In the office, for example, she's always cold, and pulling on sweaters, and complaining about invisible drafts blowing down her neck that no one else seems to feel. But when I make her come...God. I can actually feel and watch waves of heat washing over her, and radiating off into the room. Her skin flushes pink, all over, when my mouth or my fingers or my cock push against her just the right way and finally send her over the top. A rash of heat rises up over her breasts and chest. In those moments Donna, who's *always* cold, finally, *finally* is warm enough. When she's lying content and happy in my arms, she doesn't ever want to pull the sea of blankets around us - all she needs is me to be warm enough. God, that makes my heart hurt. To be all she needs. I don't think I'll ever get tired of making her feel like that.

Anyway, the thing is...I think I already knew that about her. I don't know how, I just...knew, somehow, that someday, when I was finally man enough to make her mine, when I'd finally be able to feel her pulse against me and around me, that it'd show in her skin. That I'd warm her up, finally. No sweaters or blankets required.

And speaking of her skin. God. Her skin. I knew it was alabaster; she's told me enough times, and I've been staring at her neck like a goddamned vampire for five years. But she never told me it was porcelain, too; delicate like bone china. Yet, at the same time, it's porcelain shot through with steel, because she's never going to break. She's too strong for that. 

Her legs go on forever. I nearly wept the first time she wrapped them around me. Her calves always made me insane; the way they'd flex if she rose on tip-toe to reach something; they way I knew they'd feel - tense, smooth, strong - in my hands as I held onto them for support, while driving myself into her, again and again. I only got occasional glimpses of her thighs, beneath shorts if she was heading to steal an hour of sun, or if she changed at work to head out for a walk on the Mall. I'm happy to report that they stand up to five years of dreams, and I discovered that they're exactly as I had imagined they'd be...they're long, and silken, and tight, and all mine. I spent a good hour exploring every inch, every mile of them last night. 

I thought I had a good hold on how sexy she was, before I kissed her three nights ago. I mean, for the love of God, I've done nothing but jerk off to images of her in my head for all these long years. On occasions I'd rather not remember, I'd come into the body of another woman, and flash on an image of Donna closing around me, bucking up to accept me, instead of the brown-haired girlfriend beneath me. 

But I digress. I thought I knew, already, all the ways that she was sexy to me. She was sexy in my fantasies. She was sexy when she argued with me. She was sexy when we bantered. She was, and is, sexy in a million indescribable, usually non-sexy ways. I got hard at the office one day, just watching her absent-mindedly rubbing perfume between her wrists. Sitting at her desk one long lonely night, she raised her arms above her head, stretched her back, and let out a little moan at how stiff her body was. I had to leave the room, and go try to compose myself. Because all I wanted to do was throw her to the floor and work every single one of her kinks out, the hard way.

So, you know. I thought I knew all I needed to know about Donna and her sex appeal. But nothing... nothing compares to the Donna I've gotten to know over the past few days. Nothing compares to the way her body twisted and snaked around me as she crawled and kissed her way from my feet to my mouth and head on the pillowcase, on the morning after our first night together. And, it goes without saying, nothing compares to the way my body comes alive, blood pounding, cock twitching, head spinning, heart racing, when she nips my skin or sucks on my nipples or tickles my ribs or strokes my erections with her sexy mouth and fingers and lips and hair and tongue and hands.

It's almost too much to watch her face when I'm moving inside of her...as she watches me uncovering her, discovering her. I hit the right spot, and her face...it's like she's seen God. Not that I'm comparing myself to God, because, honestly, even my ego has its limits. But her face...it lights up. I can see...recognition.  Pleasure. Thankfulness. Rapture. Understanding. Happiness. All the stuff they tell you that you can find in church. And being with her, watching her as I love her...I've found religion, too. The Tao of Donna. Don't look directly into the light, it might blind you.

Nothing compares to the way she looked and felt and sounded the first time I pulled her on top of me, and held her hips in my hands, and coaxed myself up into the wet, hot, slippery center of her. God, the way she moaned, the way she took control, riding me, fucking me, mindlessly running her hands over her breasts and my chest, reaching back to stroke my balls, clawing at my skin to get me deeper, and harder, and tighter. She threw her head back, and moaned the word "more." She threw her weight forward, and her hair curtained her face as she rocked hard against me, grinding along me, stroking her own clit and sucking my tongue into her mouth. She bit my shoulder and then came with a shout. And when I emptied into her, when my hips stopped jerking, when my world stopped spinning, she looked in my eyes, and smiled. And then she whispered that she'd never had sex with anyone else like that before...and did she do everything alright, and could we do it again? I think the incredulous, lovesick, satisfied, insatiably turned-on look that I gave her back answered all her questions. God, she's sexy.

The sexiest thing she's done? Hands-down, it was that first night, when we dragged each other up the stairwell in my building, fastened to each other's mouths...I pushed us into my apartment, kicked the door shut and pulled her to the floor. And within seconds, before either of us even gotten any clothes off, she gave a little cry, and came. Honest to God. She came from the sound of my voice, and my hands on her breasts, and the feel of me pressed against her, and my mouth on her ear, and five years of foreplay, and the tension finally exploding between us. She was embarrassed, and apologized, and wanted to bury her face in my chest...and I nearly died. I had to press my lips to her hair and squeeze my eyes and clench my fists to keep from falling over the edge right along with her. And we hadn't even touched each other yet. God, what a woman. What an unbelievably sexy, hot, expressive, wonderful woman. What an idiot I am for waiting so long.

She likes to smile and laugh when we're making love. That's something else I discovered, yet had somehow already known. She likes it when I say funny things to make her giggle; she likes it when I brush a hand over her abdomen, or ribs, or nipples, and it tickles. 

On one memorable occasion, she laughed after I made her come...just a full-on, "God I Can't Believe How Alive I Feel!" sort of laugh...on and on, great big energy-releasing laughs came pouring out of her, until I had to join in. I couldn't stop myself if I had tried. I nearly asked her to marry me right then and there.

She's also not afraid to let me know that this all means as much to her as it does to me. She cried the first time I kissed my way down her back. She tried to hold it in, but by the time I got to the base of her spine, she was sniffling. So I turned her over, and let her cry out her emotions in my arms. That was the second time I almost went digging for my grandmother's ring.

I'm going to wait, though. We should date at least a week before I bind her to me for life, don't you think?

But I'm going to ask her. I'm going to spend my life with her, making up for lost time. I'm going to kiss her awake every morning, because I discovered, yet already knew, that that's when she's most vulnerable, and soft, and beautiful, in that space between waking and sleep. That's when she sighs as she realizes that she's in bed with me, and she opens her mouth and her heart and her body to me slowly, as I pull her from dreams with lips and my hands. I want to make a child with her, someday, in that place...in the half-light of dawn, our bodies waking each other up, her first moans telling me that she's conscious, the wetness between her legs telling me that some parts of her have been awake much longer.

In three days, I've learned that she wears simple, white lace bras and panties, and that they drive me wild. I discovered that she has a birthmark under her left breast, next to her heart, and that she smiles if I kiss it. I discovered that I moan when I feel her stomach sliding against my own. I discovered that she reaches for me in her sleep, and that I wake up, now, if I can't feel her body touching mine in the night. I'm discovering that she likes too-hot showers, but that I don't mind.

I've discovered that I can't get enough of her...and that's something I've always, always known.

So now here we are, three days later, in a B&B in the middle of nowhere. We checked into the office this morning, returned some phone calls, got Leo's blessing, and then hit the road. She didn't want to go somewhere like Virginia or Maryland like everyone else does, so here we are in Delaware, with a whole afternoon and night and morning of sex and discovery and knowing ahead of us, with no pagers, or faxes, or emails, or work to worry us. It's only a day, and it's not enough, but it's a start. 

She wants to go sightseeing, at some point. In Delaware. I don't even think I know what town we're in. She's insane. And I love that about her. 

So here we are, three days later, still discovering the new, and realizing all we had already known.

I'm finally back from driving all over creation to find us some snacks...and there she is, right where I left her, naked and languorous and gorgeous and happy. Loving her's so easy. We're going to have a wonderful life.

And as I gently push the door shut, watching her sleeping on the bed before me, I remember something she told me. Three nights ago, when we finally got back to my apartment, when I was finally buried inside of her on my living room rug, our clothes hanging off of our bodies, and shifted around just enough to let us get to each other....She told me that she'd been afraid to let herself love me too much...that she was sure if she said it out loud, or admitted it to the air, that it would never happen between us. But now, she had said, now, she couldn't turn it off, and that she loved me beyond the telling of it, and that she needed me...she needed that love from me as well. Well, Donnatella Moss, I have news for you. If you want love, we'll make it. If you had some other plan for your life, break it...or work me in. Because here I am. This is us. And I need a lifetime of your love, too.


End file.
